


Captivated

by o2doko



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-23
Updated: 2011-07-23
Packaged: 2017-10-21 17:01:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/227523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/o2doko/pseuds/o2doko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While on a diplomatic mission to a planet just emerging from isolation, Obi-Wan and Anakin encounter a set of cultural misunderstandings which threatens not only their success, but the fraying trust between them.   [Commissioned fic.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Captivated

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sianelo @ Fiverr](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Sianelo+%40+Fiverr).



“I do wish you’d sit down, Anakin.” Obi-Wan’s voice sounded tired, disembodied and eerie in the gloom, and reluctantly Anakin forced his legs to halt their restless pacing. “Nothing’s changed since the last time you checked.”

“It’s been three days, Master. For all we know, they’ve left us to rot down here.” He reached out to trail his grimy fingers along the cold bars memory assured him were there, even if his eyes never quite managed to adjust to the darkness. As promised, they were as solid as ever. With a low growl, he jammed the heel of his hand against the metal.

“Patience,” the elder Jedi countered. Again. It was taking all his patience not to order his padawan to be still. As it was, he couldn’t resist adding, pointed if mild, “Had you exhibited such in the first place, we wouldn’t be down here at all.”

Anakin gritted his teeth, refusing to be provoked. “And I’ve apologized for that,” he reminded Obi-Wan tersely, though nothing about his tone or posture suggested that he was in the least bit sorry. His left cheek was stiff with caked mud – Obi-Wan had insisted it would act as a makeshift poultice to keep the swelling down, though Anakin had detected a thread of amusement in his master’s level tone and remained skeptical. All he knew for certain was that he desperately wanted a bath.

“I could get us out of here, you know.” His clothes rustled stiffly as he set his back against the bars and slid slowly to the ground. “The guard keeps the keys on her belt.”

“Yes. And even if you could come up with a non-violent way to retrieve them, she would still try to stop us when we left.” Obi-Wan’s boot heels scuffed against the ground as he rearranged his long legs in the dark, and Anakin thought about the horrible sound his master’s arm had made when the guard had snapped the bone.

“Non-violent?” he echoed stiffly. Obi-Wan hadn’t even struggled. Neither had he. There was no accounting for the rough way they’d been treated, and the memory of their arrest sent a sharp spike of anger through his chest. He clenched his fist at his side, imagining skin stiff with drying blood rather than mud. “They should know what we’re capable of,” he added darkly. “Maybe then they’d show the proper respect.”

“ _Anakin_ ,” Obi-Wan snapped warningly, abandoning his half-hearted pretense at calm. He could see no better in the dark than his apprentice could, forced to address the cluster of shadows which bore his friend’s voice, but he could feel Anakin’s presence through the Force and the bond they shared. He didn’t need to see the padawan to know how intensely angry he was.

Perhaps Master Yoda had been right; perhaps Anakin _hadn’t_ been ready for this. Little good it did to worry about that now.

Drawing in a slow, steadying breath, Obi-Wan shut his useless eyes and let his head fall back against the uneven stone behind him. “We’re ambassadors,” he reminded his apprentice firmly. “We have a responsibility to respect and uphold the laws of the culture we’re sent to negotiate with. And we failed to do that. We must accept the consequences of our actions.”

“You sound like you’re reading from a textbook,” Anakin accused softly. “Master Qui-Gon didn’t always follow the rules. _He_ would have understood.”

Obi-Wan tensed reflexively at the mention of his master’s name. They both revered his memory, if for different reasons; it was a shrewd and unfair move on Anakin’s part to mention him now. “This situation is rather different, I’m afraid,” he cut in sharply. “Qui-Gon didn’t attempt to cut your chip out of your skin and steal you right under your owner’s nose. He followed the protocols of your culture when he set you free.”

“By cheating at dice?” Anakin snorted.

Obi-Wan couldn’t quite repress a small, amused smile, though it went unseen in the dark. “… As I said; he followed the protocols of your culture.”

But the younger Jedi refused to be diverted. “We can’t leave her here, Master. They’ll kill her if they find out what she is.”

“Keep your voice down,” Obi-Wan warned softly. His sharp ears had picked up the faint ring of distant footsteps, and when he opened his eyes again he could just make out a small lick of orange light advancing through the darkness above his padawan’s head. “Let me do the talking.”

Anakin twisted around to see for himself, gripping the bars to help him lever his stiff body back on its feet. After so much time spent in the dark, the guard’s lamp was more disorienting than illuminating, though it was enough for him to realize Obi-Wan hadn’t bothered to stand, and he retreated protectively to his master’s side.

The guard halted at the bars, her armor and weapons clinking quietly as she raised the glowing orb and peered into their cell. The lamp was bright but the shadows were stronger, clinging about her face and obscuring her expression. Not that it would have made much difference. They’d spent more than three weeks among these people, but neither Obi-Wan nor Anakin had developed any skill at reading their expressions. Pure white skin stretched tautly over faces vaguely humanoid, though flatter and without the ridges of cheekbones or chins; their eyes were slanted ovals of lightless onyx as dark as their hair, which both the men and women wore long around their smooth, blank faces. The royal soldiers supplemented their armor with fearsome metal asks designed to protect their porcelain features, but this woman was merely a dungeon guard, and her pale skin glowed eerily in the dark.

Compressing her thin, bloodless lips into a disapproving line, she spared Anakin a disinterested glance before focusing her attentions on Obi-Wan. It was hard to see her eyes, but the older Jedi easily sensed her gaze. Cradling his injured arm carefully against his chest, he straightened his shoulders and made an effort to clear his mind.

Telepathy was a complicated thing. Certain Jedi were able to communicate with one another through thought alone, but it was a selective skill and one tied directly to the Force; actual telepathy was different. A genuine language in its own right, it required years of study and practice to master, and Obi-Wan was far from fluent. Like any other conversation between separate entities with only a minimal understand of one another’s language, the exchange which occurred then was halting and uncertain.

He let his eyes fall shut again, concentrating intently on the jumbled images as they bloomed unsteadily behind his eyelids. “… We are to be tried,” he murmured in an undertone to Anakin after a long, pregnant pause. “Or rather, I am to be tried. Based on their own indenture laws, you are still legally a minor under my care, and therefore I am the only one legally accountable for your actions.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Anakin spoke up uneasily, feeling suddenly alarmed. “I’m the one who tried to smuggle the girl back to our ship, not you. You didn’t even know what I was doing. They can’t punish you for that!”

“ _Hush_. She’s still speaking.”

Anakin fidgeted restlessly while he waited, taking advantage of the temporary light to reassess their surroundings. There wasn’t much to see. They were belowground, caught in an artificially hollowed indentation which surrounded them by sheer rock on three sides; the fourth side was composed of the metal bars, spaced just wide enough apart for him to slip his arm through, the ends sunk deep and solidly into the bedrock of floor and ceiling. Without windows, artificial or otherwise, the room admitted absolutely no light. When not reprieved by the guard’s lamp, they were surrounded in complete and total darkness.

The young Jedi stared at the twin buckets left near the bars – one for urine, one for food – and shuddered in a renewed flash of revulsion. _We have to get out of here. Even Watto never treated me like this._

Finally, the guard lowered her small lantern to her side and reached for the loop of keys on her belt with her free hand. Anakin stole an anxious glance at Obi-Wan, but his master merely looked thoughtful.

“I reminded her of the Intergalactic Treaty’s stance on minors,” he said after a long moment of silence. “… Or at least, I think I did. They should release you. _After_ the trial, obviously.”

The cell door gave way with the grating shriek of metal sagging against ancient hinges, and the guard made an impatient gesture at Obi-Wan, who extended a hand towards Anakin for assistance in rising.

“And what about you?” Anakin asked, soft but anxious, reluctant to release his master’s hand when Obi-Wan took a step towards the opening.

“Trial by combat,” Obi-Wan announced grimly. “I will fight another prisoner. The winner will be judged as favored by the gods and released.”

“And the loser?” Anakin followed closely behind Obi-Wan, but the guard extended a hand, motioning forcefully for him to remain where he was. He watched helplessly as Obi-Wan was pulled forward beneath the doorway, the bars clattering into place behind him.

“You will _not_ interfere, Anakin. These are honorable people; they’ll return you to the ship, and you _will_ return to Coruscant, with or without me. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Master,” Anakin murmured hollowly, though the guard had already begun to hustle Obi-Wan off into the darkness.

============================

Sylphonia was a border planet, a hostile, sunless world prey to cold seasons and colder peoples. For years their government had maintained a strict, militarily-enforced isolation policy, but the fuel used to heat their icy world was vanishing; their survival now rested in trade agreements with the rest of the galaxy.

As far as Anakin was concerned, the Sylphonians had done a terrible job making a decent first impression.

Two months ago they had startled the Jedi Council in Coruscant with an unexpected plea for assistance. Claiming that they wished to hold an intergalactic meeting with traders interested in their prospective wares, they pointed out that their long isolation had made them ignorant of other cultures. They felt themselves to be in need of a reliable, neutral ambassador to preside over the negotiations. Ever eager to secure additional allies for the Republic, the Council had quickly agreed.

A straightforward enough assignment, at least on the surface; but the truth was that Sylphonia’s isolation had worked in both directions. The outside world knew even less about them than they did about the outside world.

Obi-Wan had let it slip later that the Council had been opposed to sending Anakin on this mission. Though strong in the Force and a talented fighter, the young padawan had no sense of political delicacy and was not a natural ambassador. But Obi-Wan, sensing an educational opportunity, had fought their initial decision. Arguing that Anakin would never learn unless given the opportunity to try, he had at last won his case and the two of them had embarked from Coruscant endowed with official diplomatic authority.

… And three weeks later they’d been thrown into a filthy prison cell, declared troublemakers and official traitors to the crown.

Anakin groaned quietly to himself, letting his forehead rest against the bars. He recognized the danger of their present situation, and was entirely aware that it was his fault. But no matter what happened, he couldn’t find it in his heart to regret what he’d done. Obi-Wan had always been less sensitive to the Force than he was; he hadn’t noticed the overwhelming potential of the slave girl when she’d brought them their evening meal that first night, but Anakin had. And after that first night, when they’d witnessed the old woman burned alive in the town square …

No. He didn’t regret what he’d done. These people were ignorant and cruel, and deserved whatever ill befell them. He just wished he knew how to make Obi-Wan see it that way.

 

It was impossible to keep track of time in this lightless world, but Anakin’s internal rhythm suggested an hour had passed; maybe two. The girl moved silent as a wraith through the cavern and carried no torch, but he could sense her easily enough when she crouched beside the door.

“Lilen?” he asked cautiously, reaching out to touch her shoulder; it couldn’t hurt to be sure. He sensed her confirmation like a warm glow in the back of his mind, and then her skirts rustled silkily as she stood and struggled to force a piece of ill-fitting metal into the lock. Anakin grinned to himself in the dark. Strange planet or no, some things didn’t change; and he’d never met a slave yet who didn’t know how to pick a lock.

Her cold fingers – only four on each hand, he remembered absently – lightly brushed his shoulder in turn as he felt his way blindly into the cavern, and he was suddenly assaulted with an image of Obi-Wan standing alone in some sort of arena. “The Trial; I know,” he told her, fighting to keep his voice low and hoping she understood. “He’s injured, and he won’t kill someone to save himself, especially not like that. He’s in danger. We have to rescue him.” He could sense her confusion as she struggled to comprehend, but there wasn’t time for that; gripping her thin, brittle wrist to keep her close, Anakin began to carefully pick his way forward in the darkness.

They walked for what might have been hours, no light or sound to help them find their way. It felt a little like dreaming, trying to run sluggishly through shadows as thick as water. Occasionally, Lilen would tug him in a different direction, correcting his uncertain course. She was a slave and could not be convinced to lead him, but she seemed to know exactly where she was going. Dimly, Anakin wondered whether she had been here before, or whether she could just see that well in the dark. But there was no time to stop and ask. There was no time at all.

At last, the edges of the darkness began to grey, fringes of shadow smoldering like fading ash against the heat of a light he couldn’t quite see. He took it as a sign that they were getting closer to the exit, and dared to increase his pace. “We should have run into someone by now,” he whispered to her as they walked, picturing the heavily armored guard in his mind and hoping she could see it. “Someone should have tried to stop us.”

Lilen shook her head, and Anakin realized it was now light enough for him to make out the glint of her silver earrings against the folds of her black hair. He wasn’t sure what she was negating, exactly, but he didn’t protest when she gave him an encouraging shove forward.

The sudden burst of fresh air felt like heaven against his cheek when they stumbled over the cave’s threshold, and in spite of himself he paused a moment to relish in the sensation. It was cold, but he didn’t mind; the stinging bite in the wind revived his sluggish limbs and cleared his head. Slicking his filthy hair back out of his eyes, he blinked rapidly, adjusting to the lighter gloom, and tried to get his bearings.

“We’re on the outskirts of the city now, aren’t we?” he asked, partly to her but mostly to himself. He could see the lights glimmering in the distance when he turned his head, struggling to remember the route they’d taken when the guards had dragged them here. “Shouldn’t take us long to get back, but I don’t know where Obi-Wan is.” He turned to her now, concentrating on the image she herself had shown him down in the dungeon. Anakin looked for understanding in her flat, blank eyes, but it was a useless endeavor; she might have been carved from stone, for all the emotion he could read in her face. “We have to _hurry_ ,” he pointed out impatiently, increasingly frustrated with their inability to communicate. “Where is he, Lilen? You must help me.”

She touched his arm again, conveying the image of his ship, exactly as it had looked the night he’d tried to sneak her aboard it.

“We’re not going without him,” he insisted stubbornly, shaking his head in an emphatic _no_. The wind picked up around them, tugging her silky hair wildly around her pale face, and he wondered if she was beautiful. It was hard for him to find loveliness in anything so still and cold. Exasperated, he also wondered if it wouldn’t be quicker to leave her here and find Obi-Wan on his own.

But she placed her thin hands on either side of his face, forcefully recalling his attention, and this time the image was of guns. Of flying low over the city in the ship with guns firing.

“… We don’t have weapons like that,” he said slowly, but perhaps the basis of the idea was sound. Only the military had any experience with aircraft in this world. A strange vehicle streaking overhead might be enough to scare the average citizen and create a panic – a distraction; cover they could use to escape. Anakin grinned, sudden and bright in the dark.

“I like the way you think, Lilen. Come on; we have to hurry.”

====================

Obi-Wan readjusted his grip on his lightsabre hilt, unsure whether he should be grateful that Qui-Gon had forced him to learn to fight with both hands – his strong arm was still distressingly broken – or resentful of the fact that his opponent appeared to be a child.

 _They return my weapon to me, allowing me to fight with what is familiar, but then make me combat someone who can’t defend himself?_ It was an odd incongruence, but he had to admit that he knew precious little about these people. For all he was aware, this ‘child’ was a champion warrior. For all he knew, the real trial was not in combat, but in how he reacted to some sort of hidden test against his honor. Or was he supposed to make a boy suffer for a boy’s crime?

 _Anakin, if we live through this, I’ll have you doing penance for a month straight._

The child was a slight, waif-like figure clad in a pair of tattered, olive-colored pants and a the loose purple tunic worn by many of his fellow countrymen. His glossy black hair was twisted in a long, simple braid which trailed over one fragile-looking shoulder; his liquid eyes were wide and enormous in the flat plane of his pale face. Barefoot in the white sand of the arena, he stood watching Obi-Wan blankly, a slingshot held loosely in one hand.

The Jedi licked his dry lips and cast a speculative glance over those who had gathered to watch. No one made a sound, of course, and to his untrained eye their faces were identical and unreadable. It was all a bit surreal.

Suddenly, the boy lifted his arms and pulled back on his slingshot, releasing the band in one swift, fluid movement. Obi-Wan never saw him reach for a missile, but his senses warned him that something was spiraling his way. Unthinkingly he leapt aside, and a coin-sized portion of the arena wall behind him exploded in a shower of dust. He was still looking at the aftermath in started surprise when the next invisible missile came flying at him, and there was no time to duck away; the blue blade of his lightsabre hissed into existence, deftly blocking the object before it could tear through his shoulder.

The audience made no sound, but their collective surprise rippled over him like one terse, indrawn breath.

 _Witchcraft_ , the child with the slingshot thought, a thought accompanied by a child’s wide-eyed fear. The boy recalled the old woman burned alive in the town square, and Obi-Wan shook his head quickly, wishing there was a way to explain. He let the blue blade fizzle out of existence and extended his arm away from his body, trying to placate both his opponent and the crowd, but if anything the action only caused further alarm. Quick as lightening, the child raised his own weapon again, and this time Obi-Wan wasn’t quite fast enough. The projectile grazed his wrist, tearing through cloth and bone in a scarlet spray of blood as it whistled past. Obi-Wan winced, though his mind automatically shied away from acknowledging the agony; there would be time to lick his wounds once he was safe again.

 _I don’t want to hurt you_ , he told the boy firmly, even as his lightsabre came to life again in his hands. His mind was settled on that account, at least; he would defend himself, but he wouldn’t attack. The judges could make what they wished from that.

The hum of the sabre was the only clear sound in the arena as they began to circle one another warily, Obi-Wan wondering if he could contrive a way to unarm the child without hurting him, the boy determined not to be backed too close to any of the high stone walls. Some of the spectators in the stands leaned closer for a better look, though it was impossible to say whether or not they approved of the ‘battle’ so far. Obi-Wan had a healthy respect for creative improvisation, but he would have given a great deal in that moment to know what it was they expected from him.

Then again, not knowing what they expected made it impossible to break any rules.

Drawing in a quick, impulsive breath, Obi-Wan prayed he wasn’t making a dire mistake and – gently as he could manage – he used the Force to pull the slingshot out of his opponent’s hand.

Before the boy could recover from his shock, the Jedi knight disarmed himself as well, letting the blade fall a final time before dropping both weapons onto the floor of the arena at his feet. _I will not fight this child_ , he announced grimly, casting the thought wide toward anyone who might be able to hear. _I could pick him up like a doll and throw him over the side of the arena_ – he paused a moment, letting that mental image sink in – _but I will not. My powers are a gift. I will not sully that gift by abusing them in this way. Pass what judgment you will, but I will not fight!_

They looked at him silently for a long moment, and he wondered what they saw: a strange foreigner, ragged but defiant, wounded but unwilling to inflict hurt. Well, what would be would be. The hardest battles in life were very rarely fought with physical weapons. Qui-Gon had taught him that. He hoped one day Anakin would learn the lesson as well.

It was about then that his tired senses registered the distant roar of a spaceship overhead.

=======================

Lilen watched silently as Anakin coaxed the sleeping machine to life, noting the way levers and dials sometimes changed position near him without the touch of his hand. The part of her that was a woman – a woman used to the flattering and often lecherous attentions of men – acknowledged that he was showing off a little for her benefit. But what amusement she might have gleaned from that was swallowed by a broader, general stab of fear. _Sorcery_ , she thought anxiously, fighting the urge to flee before he could lever the giant metal beast into the air. Her master had warned her of this. She had been forgiven for her earlier escape attempt at this alien’s hands, for who could resist the charms of a witch? Certainly not a witless slave girl. And if his strange powers called out to something deep inside her – something so long and carefully suppressed – well, that was her sin to bear.

A sin she hoped to erase with what she did now.

Her master had explained nothing to her, of course, but she knew he hated the strange foreigners for their noisy speech and their frighteningly naked eyes. She knew that he feared more of their treacherous, evil sort would come to Sylphonia soon, were nothing done to stop them. He, who knew her secret sin, as was his right, had entrusted this very special mission to her. Like in the great stories of Deva, the future of the world now rested in a slave’s careful hands.

Smiling grimly, Lilen whispered a quick prayer – knowing Anakin couldn’t hear – and begged the great Goddess to aid her.

“It won’t be long now,” Anakin interrupted reassuringly, sensing her unease and misinterpreting it. She couldn’t understand his words, but she resented the intrusion. He had been a slave once himself, or so he’d said; what right did he have to carry himself as a free man now, to act as though he had the right to control his own fate? _Goddess, may you punish his arrogance,_ she murmured, leaning over Anakin’s shoulder and pointing to the outline of the great arena below. _Just a little longer now_ …

“There’s Obi-Wan!” Anakin exclaimed then, obviously relieved to see his mentor well and whole. Carefully, with a level of finesse and skill only he could have possibly coaxed from the bulky ship, the Jedi began to position the craft between the city buildings until they hovered above the ring. They were close enough now to see the alarm and confusion on the faces of those below. A few spectators had scattered, seeking to distance themselves from the potential harm, but most remained. It was there way.

Seizing the moment, Anakin flipped the intercom switch on the complex control board and spoke into it, bold and warning; “You will release the prisoner! All of you, leave the stadium now! I do not want to hurt you, but I will do what I must if you refuse to comply. Go! Now! Leave the prisoner!” He knew few would be able to puzzle out any concrete meaning in his commands, but he judged his voice sufficiently menacing; and whatever latent threat it lacked, the spaceship itself would make up for in spades.

But none of the remaining observers made any move to leave.

“What are they _doing_?” Anakin hissed worriedly, struggling with the controls. The old ship wobbled unsteadily in the air, its thrusters unbalanced at such a low atmosphere; it was a space-worthy craft not designed to hover, and even he wouldn’t be able to fight the machinery for long without damaging something. He cast a glance over his shoulder at Lilen, trying to project the image of a rope ladder into her mind. “I can’t do both – you’re going to have to lower the ladder for Obi-Wan while I steer us out of here. Do you understand? Lower the ladder!”

She understood. Steeling herself, the little slave girl lunged over his outstretched arm and brought her fist down hard on the ignition control.

Anakin reacted fast, sweeping her brutally aside with the snap of his arm, but even as she hit the opposite wall she could hear the strained engines screaming into full, deadly throttle. This was it; the flames would set the city on fire, and they would crash – a deadly, violent star cast in shame from the heavens above. Lilen smiled peacefully to herself even as Anakin began an inventive stream of curses, the ship shuddering around them as it abruptly lost altitude.

=========================

“… I really thought I might kill her, you know,” Anakin confessed quietly, toying nervously with the cuffs of his fraying sleeves. “She just about capsized the ship. We all could have died, and no one on this entire planet would ever even think about trade treaties again.”

Obi-Wan made a non-committal humming sound low in his threat, tilting his head back against his chair and contemplating the ceiling. They had been returned to their original guest lodgings, though the shock of what had happened – of what had almost happened – still rode high in his veins, making it difficult not to feel caged. “But you did not kill her,” he pointed out levelly, his voice much calmer than he felt. “You compensated for her sabotage and turned the ship away. We are all very fortunate that you were the one piloting.”

“I had expected …” Anakin halted uneasily, searching Obi-Wan’s face before abruptly looking away again. “Um. You’re being much more … understanding … than I would have thought.”

“Why should I be angry?” Obi-Wan asked mildly, though he was still watching the night-shadows in the corners of the room. It was a test, not leniency, and Anakin knew it. The boy fidgeted uneasily in his seat.

“You ordered me not to interfere, and I disobeyed, and I disobeyed recklessly and almost killed a bunch of innocent people, and that’s after violating the planet’s customs and getting you into trouble in the first place, and all of that because I was impulsive and didn’t stop to think things through.” It all came out in one quick, nervous rush. He wished Obi-Wan would just shout at him. It would be less torturous than this.

But when Obi-Wan said nothing at all, Anakin couldn’t help adding, “I don’t understand her, Master! I wanted to help her. And don’t tell me I just don’t understand their customs, because I know exactly what I feels like to be a slave to a horrible master who treats you like filth, and to have this wonderful power no one else understands …” He trailed off again helplessly.

Obi-Wan finally stirred, lifting his bandaged hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. He looked old in that moment, and in some ways Anakin felt that was the worst punishment of all. “People are different, Ani,” he said quietly, and his padawan was startled by the old nickname. “Not just in race and class and culture, but because they’re _people_. Any entity which can think and feel has the ability and the right to interpret their own emotions. Lilen’s experiences may be similar to yours, but the way she thinks and feels about them are not the same. You cannot make her decisions for her, however much you might want to.”

“They’re going to kill her now,” he said wretchedly, gripping at the armrests of his own chair. “She could have been so strong … now they’ll burn her, like driftwood.”

“I asked for leniency, but in the end, she is still a slave. We are lucky that the queen was willing to accept this as a cultural misunderstanding on our part. And we are _very_ lucky that no one else had to sacrifice their life for this foolishness.”

“No one has the right to take the life of another,” Anakin mumbled sullenly, sinking low in his seat and looking away. Distracted, he didn’t notice that Obi-Wan was finally looking at him, blue eyes serious and grave, and – for one bare, raw moment – intensely disturbed.

“I hope you’ll remember that,” he said softly, closing his eyes again. _No matter what happens, I hope you’ll always remember that._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I am currently accepting commissions; please see my [Gig page](http://fiverr.com/users/o2doko/gigs/write-an-original-5000-word-story-in-any-genre) for more information.


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